Aftershock: A Collection of Survivors Tales (2 page)

I was bitten three days ago. I made a run to the store for supplies, though it was picked bare, and was ambushed on my way back into my shelter. I was sure I was dead, or at least doomed to part of the undead, but I never got sick. Three days and I haven’t even spiked a fever. According to the news reports that were on before the power and communications went out, the sickness is quick. It attacks your system right away, and you “die” in 24 hours or less. So the mystery is why am I still alive?

From what I have seen over the last three months, there is no immunity. People get bitten, people get sick, people die, and then those same people come back as flesh eating shells of their former selves. The first person I watched die, and be reborn as a monster was my brother. It was early in the outbreak; he had gone to work and had been bitten on his way out of the garage where he was a mechanic. His wife called that evening to ask for help. She knew something was really wrong with him, but we had no idea what at the time.

I arrived at his house, and found him chewing on my sister-in-law’s arm. She was screaming for me to take the kids and get out of there. My nephew put up the biggest fight; he didn’t want to leave his mother behind. Sixteen-year-old boys can be stubborn and incredibly protective. I believe that he knew before the rest of us that he would never see his parents again. His sisters jumped into my arms while sobbing, they were eager to get away from their father turned monster.

By the next morning, their neighborhood was quarantined. The National Guard had set up a perimeter and anyone trying to leave was to be shot on sight. The government knew what was happening and didn’t warn us. They didn’t want to incite a panic. Someone should have said something sooner. We could have planned better. I know all of that is not true, but I need to blame someone. I’ve lost everyone important to me, with the exception of my brother’s children.

Three months is longer than I expected to live. Everywhere is overrun. There is nowhere to hide. The small house I rented, when money mattered and people owned things, is our safe zone. It’s not really safe, but that’s what I call it for the kids’ sakes. The girls are eleven and eight. They need to feel like I can protect them, even though I fear I can’t. Getting bitten was my worst case scenario. Who would care for them? But I didn’t get sick. Though grateful, I don’t know why I am different.

My nephew Garett and I did our best to fortify our safe zone. We blocked all the doors and windows. We were ahead of everyone else in the neighborhood when it came to blocking ourselves in. What we saw happen in Garett’s parents’ home made us realize we were really in trouble. Neither one of us believed that the news reports were truthful. We had seen different. They kept saying it was the flu, and people were getting sick, but not to worry. “Wash your hands,” they said. Like that mattered.

Work didn’t seem important anymore. The first thing we did was drain my bank account buying supplies at the hardware store, grocery store, and camping supply store. That was Day 1 for us. We didn’t leave our neighborhood after that. Garett and I boarded up the windows, then boarded them over again. We cut fencing down around the neighborhood in the middle of the night and dragged it back to the house. We used it on the inside of the windows, as a third layer of defense.

Then we started building brick walls in the house. Where there was a window, there were three layers already, but the brick made us feel more secure. Our sleeping areas are very dark, and feel like a cave even during the day. I can almost sleep. Garett takes watch for a few hours and lets me doze off. I know, like me, when he closes his eyes he sees his father’s soulless face as he is literally eating his wife. Neither of us sleeps well.

It took us a week to scavenge the items we needed from the surrounding homes. Before the sickness hit, I had never stolen anything in my whole life. This isn’t really stealing, is it? It’s survival. Many of the people had abandoned the area anyway. I hope they found somewhere safe, but I doubt anywhere safe exists anymore. Don’t tell the kids that, though, I want them to have hope. A person without hope is dead anyway.

Garett and I found guns on our fourth trip out. I felt like I was flying the minute I saw them. Finally, something really useful. I knew that there were more than just the dead to deal with. There were going to be scavengers, just like us. They may be dangerous. I had the kids to protect. I’d watched enough movies to know that disasters bring out the worst in people, and the worst people thrive in them. With the guns we had a chance, a way to stop others from taking our dwindling supply stash.

The other trips netted us some canned goods to add to what we had bought on Day 1. We syphoned gas from cars, and took any batteries we could find. I even found a couple bottles of vodka. Breaking and entering felt wrong at first, but it quickly became second nature. Garett, God bless him, found some dolls and board games for his sisters. Hannah, my youngest niece, cried softly when she saw the Barbie he had lifted for her. It was one that she had owned before, and even though she never said, I believe it made her miss her parents. She never puts it down now. I guess we all need to hold on to the past. Even if the past was so recent.

By the seventh day, we could no longer risk going out at night, or during the day for that matter. The streets were filled with the dead or others looking for safe shelter and food. It was amazing how quickly things downgraded in this area. It took another 4 weeks before the power and communications went out. Our neighborhood was in a quarantine zone by day 4, so I guess we were one of the first areas hit by the sickness. You could hear the shots being fired as people tried to escape the area. They tried to contain the sickness, but it was far too late for that. From the cryptic news reports, we could see that there were pockets of sickness spreading everywhere around the world.

We have been lucky so far, our defenses are holding. I don’t know how long that will be true. I have no way to know how many others are surviving and hiding in our area. The last few news broadcasts were grim. By then, even the government was admitting that we were facing an apocalyptic situation. They had no answers, and half of our population was gone. That was two months ago. We may be the only living beings left. My trip to the store wasn’t just to get supplies; we hadn’t run that low yet to become desperate, but to get information.

The children and I are lost as to what we should do next. We have enough food and water to last us another few months, but then what? Is help coming? Is there anyone left to help? Then I was bitten. It was stupid to risk it going outside, but we needed to know what was going on. I could have lost it all for us, but I didn’t. I just don’t feel sick. Why don’t I feel sick?

I got the call on Thursday morning that work was cancelled indefinitely. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. I’ve been working the same shitty job day in and day out for the last 18 years. I hate being there, but what the hell am I supposed to do other than go to work. So, anyway, work’s cancelled. Plant’s closed, and we are all just supposed to figure out how to make life work without an income.

Town goes to hell pretty quick. Most of us were employed by the plant. Everyone is out of work and no one knows what to do. The grocery store is empty in 3 days. The liquor store was dry in less than that. A bunch of people just packed up and took off to parts unknown. TV talked about what was happening, but kept saying it was under control. Under control my ass, they don’t have a handle on shit. The plant shutting down was the end of the world.

I was wrong about losing my job being the end of the world. Those freaking flesh eating jerk offs out there are the end of the world. All my neighbors are either gone, or gone, if you know what I mean. A bunch of the guys from the plant decided to ride it out on their favorite barstool. Seemed like a great idea to me. I didn’t have shit to come home to anymore. Wife left years ago and took the kids with her. They are somewhere living high on the hog, and I’m down here busting my ass everyday just to miss making ends meet.

So we’re sitting in the bar bullshitting about all the shit we never got to do, or all the shit we are gonna miss when it’s all gone, when a bunch of dead assholes come busting through the door and window. Like a pack, but slow moving, so maybe I’d call it a herd. Bill gets attacked first, but not just attacked, eaten. It was insane, one minute we are laughing our asses off about never getting to bang a stripper, and the next he’s lunch. Johnny jumps up and starts running towards the back, but trips over his own feet and they swarm him. Blood is everywhere.

Bob, Red, Big Dan, and even Lucky all getting chewed on. It was like a scene from a shitty zombie movie from the 80’s. I worked my way around the outside of the action and had one foot out the front door when I felt it. Flesh eating freak had my shoulder, sinks his teeth into it, too. Asshole. Hurt like hell. I managed to pull away when I knocked his head into the door jam. Ran like hell the whole way home. I watch the news, I’m not a stupid man. I know that getting bitten means you’re a flesh eater now.

I figured I had 24 hours at tops. I drank all the booze in the house, and smoked every last one of my cigarettes. I passed out sometime that night. I woke up hungover, but fine. Still feel fine. That was 3 weeks ago. I figure I am the only man on the planet who is going to survive this mess. That’s if I can manage not to become lunch. There isn’t anyone else left alive around here.

The dead just roam, all day, all night. The moaning is unbearable. I locked myself in the corner store a few days ago. At first the fuckers scratched and clawed at the barricades. I sat still as could be. No noise to give away where I was and eventually they got bored or some shit. I’m almost out of smokes again, and that pisses me off more than anything else. End of the world is some sick shit, but quitting smoking under this kind of stress is some kind of torture.

I keep thinking about taking off. Maybe I’ll go look and see if anyone else is still out there. Anyone who doesn’t want to eat my ass. It’s a lot to figure out though. I need a car, because I sure as fuck am not walking cross country with those things chasing me the whole time. I need weapons and there are none in the store. I bet I could make something if I really put my head to it. Then there’s the car. If it doesn’t have keys in it I am screwed. I don’t know how to hot wire a car. Add to my lack of know-how that every second I sit there making noise some thing is going to be trying to get a bite of me.

That’s if the doors aren’t locked. If they are, I’m dead. Moving on is going to take a good amount of time to plan. I got some shit to figure out, and to tell you the truth I’m happy here. At least until I’m out of smokes again.

Test subject 63-04 continues to defy understanding. A corporal with the US Army 1st Infantry Division, the subject was exposed via a bite on the left distal forearm approximately 6 weeks, 4 days, and 12 hours ago. All others infected via bite, scratch, or exposure to any bodily fluid have succumbed in no more than seventy-two hours.

The as yet unidentified pathogen has a relatively predictable life cycle, dependent on the health of the individual and the location of the wound. There is no prodromal period, the incubation lasts mere hours, and within the first day the victim exhibits a fever of approximately 104 degrees. Profuse sweating, bone pain, nausea, abdominal rigidity, and generalized dystonia are fairly common. These symptoms are followed by convulsions, sepsis, and finally, clinical death. Reanimation occurs anywhere from 1 to 6 hours later.

The pathogen appears to somehow metabolize necrotic tissue. This, at least, explains the reanimated beings’ apparent hunger, though the bodies seem to gain no real nourishment from the flesh they consume. One pervading theory states that the pathogen is somehow able to digest the rotting flesh consumed by the creature while differentiating from the flesh of the host, probably due to its own infected nature. This would stand to reason as to why the infected and the reanimated do not attack each other.

The pathogen seems to replicate in the prefrontal cortex of the brain until a critical viral load is attained. It has been theorized that this immature stage of the pathogen’s life cycle utilizes something in the glial cells to sustain an alarming replication rate. Once this threshold is passed the pathogen metastasizes throughout the infected individual. While the majority of the individual’s brain tissue is destroyed, the primary motor and sensory cortices remain roughly intact. At least in so much as the creatures remain ambulatory and with rudimentary visual, auditory, and in some cases even olfactory sense. Many of the symptoms suffered by victims can be explained by this sudden rapid tissue death in the brain.

The pathogen is neither a virus nor a bacteria. All attempts at treatment using traditional antibiotics, antivirals, and gene therapy have been met with zero success. Several variations of vaccine have been developed in an attempt to inoculate non-infected subjects. Each successive attempt has met with failure. These experiments have led to each subject succumbing to the disease in 100% of cases recorded.

Dead within 3 days. In all recorded instances. Except test subject 63-04. His medical history reveals nothing exceptional. Tibial fracture at age 7, several bouts of pneumonia during adolescence, elevated blood pressure typical for a person in his line of work. Nothing that would explain his apparent immunity to the disease. A complete battery of tests has been run repeatedly. Blood, stool, tissue samples from all body systems, even sperm samples have produced no leads. Attempts to transfer the subject’s apparent immunity to other individuals via blood transfusion have met with failure, both in cases where the second subject was infected prior to the test and those where exposure occurred after transfusion. Multiple attempts have also been made to infect Test Subject 63-04 via oral, intravenous, and parenteral routes. All have met with failure. At this point little is known, though much is conjectured, about the exact physiology of the pathogen. All attempts to isolate and classify it have proven unsuccessful. Bacterial cultures have come up negative, antibody tests have yielded no results, and if it is, in fact, a parasite as has been theorized, it is of a type not yet discovered. Were not half the staff already infected we may have had time to fully examine the few raw samples we had. Those samples have all been tainted by human contact.

Extensive scouting has yet to locate a sample of the pathogen in the environment. Heavily infested areas have been scrubbed but have yet to yield a grain of contaminated soil, a drop of contaminated water, or a molecule of the substance outside a human host. All we know is that the disease is 100% communicable in the case of contact with the congealed mess that passes for the bodily fluid of an infected individual, and once exposed there is a 100% fatality rate. Except for Test Subject 63-04.

On a personal note, as there is not enough staff left at this facility to even consider continuing research, I believe I will dispatch 63-04 myself. This evening. I have been infected and I do not see any reason to let him go on living while the rest of us are doomed. My fever has spiked again and I have lost sensation in my left arm. By this time tomorrow I will be wandering the corridors with the others.